


Before Death

by Whispering_Rayn



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Before the plague, Rating May Change, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 10:17:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19271221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whispering_Rayn/pseuds/Whispering_Rayn
Summary: Follow Markus thought his life before the dawning of the plague as he meets asra, his familiar, and Julian before his inevitable end.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my OC. There are some discrepancies between this story and canon. Come to expect them.

Life is never easy. We just go from one incident to the next, searching for the happiness in between. For some, it's starts younger, others later. For this particular young man, it started when he was 8 years old. All was well in Vesuvia or at least it seemed like it to young Markus, though he went by another name then.

His mother worked as one of the elite guard to the count and countess of Vesuvia while his father was a well established carriage maker. That morning, his mother had kissed them both goodbye, promising love and a late return.

That night, the sunset bled red with the flames of the palace as an army invaded from the northwest. His father watched the sky with worry which only deepened when his only child would ask when mother was coming home. Markus fell asleep at his bedroom window, waiting for mother to return. She never did.

The next day, Lucio stood in the town square, announcing his supremecy and demanding the loyalty of the people of Vesuvia. Any and all who opposed him would be killed where they stood.

The riots followed for weeks. Bloodshed was common in the main streets of the city for some time.

His father joined at first but upon seeing the slaughter of his friends and neighbors, he fell into submission. Markus wouldn't understand until much later why his father didn't fight the man who took his mother. It was a mix of the need to protect his child and his own cowardice. Mother fought to the death but he would not for his wife. 

Later, at 13 years old, he found his father hung from the rafters of his workshop and stabbed repeatedly. Apparently, Lucio had an accident in one of his carriages and blamed the maker. He charged him with treason and executed him on the spot. 

Vandals took advantage of the home now that a child was all that was left, taking anything of value and chasing him from the home. 

On the streets, he quickly watched the area fall into disrepair, welcoming uncensored crime to what was now known as the south end. 

It was in this time alone with his thoughts and desperation that he began to question himself and what he'd been taught as a child. Things slowly began to click into place and he resorted to theft and odd jobs to afford the right clothes to hide the quickly developing body of gentle curves and soft places that he began to despise.

He gave himself a new name and did his best to keep up with jobs despite his poor eyesight.

He moved himself further to the east, across the channels to the nicer parts, hoping those in better standing might pitty him enough for work and a roof over his head.

Between the ages of 14 and 15, he slept in a sheep sheerers barn during the off seasons. Needless to say, he'd come to love the sheep who shared his bed when they visited. He considered hearding for a while but fate had other plans.

Just shy of 16, he found himself very sick. Apparently sleeping in the mostly open air in winter wasn't so good for you. The sheerer took pity on the boy and sent him to an apothecary in the temple district. While in the old woman's care, he learned that he had a knack for plant identification by touch and scent and was even fairly good at memorizing their uses. The woman practically adopted him and took him on as an apprentice and a care giver. 

She taught him everything about herbology and brews and helped him with focusing a lot of his pent up energy in more constructive ways. 

At 18, he found himself enough money to buy a place for himself and bid the woman farewell for the last time. 

The place was small but for him it was perfect. A small storefront with an apartment space above it and a small courtyard in the back for a water pump and garden beds once he built them. It took a while to get himself established but by 19, he could control his prices with little argument and it left him living comfortably at the end of the day.

Despite his reservations, he finally found the nerve to attend the annual masquerade. Everyone boasted the celebration and he figured it would be nice to dress up and live behind a mask for a night. No one would question what was beneath his clothing in a place like this.

At the time, the bright red suit with the white chest and white rams mask was quite suiting to his stubborn and sometimes abrasive personality. He never noticed the silver haired boy sitting on a blanket on the path up to the palace but the boy noticed him. Neither realized that that moment would tangle their fates in such an intricate way that they could never be rid of each other.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First meetings with a certain street rat! Not the best way to become acquainted.

The night was fun, full of drinking and luxurious foods the likes of which he'd never seen. He socialized with people casually for the first time in years. It was also the only time he'd ever ridden in a carriage to go home, not that he remembered much of the ride or the people in the carriage by morning.

In the following weeks, a strange series of events happened. His money pouch disappeared from his bag while out shopping only to suddenly appear on his doorstep a couple days later, just as full as when it was taken. 

Then some of his recent ingredient purchases was swiped but this time he managed to catch a blur of silver and magenta and a whiff of salt as the pick pocket made off with his goods. He lost him quickly as running with a blind cane is not exactly easy.

The next morning, when Markus went out back to water his plants, he found a lean figure of silver and magenta moving about his garden beds. The same scent of salt water hit his nose and he immediately went for his broom at the door to run him off. He didn't hit the assailant but he's pretty sure he was close... He was not. 

When he searched the garden, he found a few of his dock plants picked at the leaves and his lemongrass all but gone. The little theif was taking advantage of him! He'd get him next time.

Sure enough, the next time he managed to grab something but it was cool and leathery, earning him a sharp, stinging bite and a cry from the theif as the snake was pulled from his scarf. At the bite however, the boy grabbed the creature when it was dropped and left Markus to tend his bleeding wrist alone.

Later that day, he met a knock at the door only to kick a small bundle on his step. It was a small charm, his missing glass bottles and a wobbly note written on the leaf wrapping it all up.

"Sorry Faust bit you. Here is some medicine. She isn't venomous."

In one of the jars, was a salve that, by the smell, was made from HIS OWN FUCKING PLANTS!

It would be weeks before the theif would show again. This time, Markus didn't miss. but this time the boy wasn't there to take anything and Markus didn't grab his broom.

The dragged the boy in by his scarf as he held a growing welt on his head.

"You better have a damn good explanation for showing your face around here," he snapped, practically throwing the taller young man into a seat. " You took my money, you took my groceries, you took my plants! You better get to explaining before I add another welt to that curly head of yours." He brandished his walking stick at the boy.

This close, he could make out details. The sloppily patched clothes, the long mess of curls, the expressive eyes hidden behind long lashes, and the small silver head with red eyes that stared back from inside the red scarf around the boys neck.

The boy didn't even answer before Markus asked another question, "Where are you from? You look and smell like something washed up on the pier."

The voice that answered back was a lot more mature than he'd expected and somehow much softer. The voice reminded him of a trickling spring. 

The boy explained that he was here to apologise for the trouble he caused and to make up for it all. As he explained, Markus moved about his shop, picking up bottles, a bowl, a pitcher of water and a sponge.

"So you took the things... To help a friend..."

"Yes."

"And you couldn't be bothered to ask?! Your parents raise you in a den of wolves?"

"Actually no. I don't know where my parents are."

Markus rolled his eyes as he poored the water into the bowl and began adding drops from the bottles. "Talking to the wrong guy, friend. Mine are dead," he replied, dipping the sponge into the water and carrying the bowl to the boy. He wrang out the sponge and handed it to him before directing him to hold it to the lump on his head. "I like to think I'm reasonable-"

"You hit me with a stick!"

"You stole my shit!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Sorry doesn't revive my dead lemongrass, you little prick! Do you know how long it took me got get that damned thing to take to the pot?"

"Let me make it up to you!"

"And how do you intend to do that, smartass?"

"Let me see it." He tried to stand but the whack of the walking stick to his arm made him stop. 

"You stay put," Markus instructed. "Leave my shop and the palace guards will be on you like a hound on a hare." 

After retrieving the pot, he was actually surprised to see the boy still there. He set the large flower pot in front of him. The few stalks that remain are wilted and drying despite the damp soil around it. 

The boy just stared at it a moment.

"Well? How're you going to fix it? You going to magically put it back?"

"Yeah, pretty much. I don't have my book with me so I'm trying to reminder..."

The small silver snake, hardly even a forearms length, poked it's head out of the soft scarf with a flick of it's tongue.

The boy smiled to the snake. "Thank you, Faust. I'd like the help."

Markus had to admit, he was curious as he watched the snake slide down the boys arm as he pressed his fingers into the soil. The snake coiled around the pot and the most bizarre thing began to happen; the stalks began to straighten and the smallest sprouts began to push from the dirt.

"How in the seven hells did you do that?"

"Magic."

"You're a magician?! You look like you're twelve!"

For a moment, the boy looked hurt but he tipped his head back and laughed. "No! I'm sixteen!"

How the fuck was this brat only 3 years younger than him? And already doing magic? In a city with maybe two or three magicians that may or may not be complete hacks?! 

"Will you please let me work for you? I can help the plants, I can make charms and spells! Oh! I can read Tarot! Please! Let me read for you."

Markus found himself getting a bit overwhelmed as the boy before him practically begged to show off and let him work. 

He didn't even remember agreeing to it but suddenly, they were standing at his counter, the treatment Markus had made left abandoned on the chair in the corner next to the new lemongrass pot.

Markus watched as he pulled out a deck that clearly was delicately made by hand and with a lot of care. He shuffled them carefully and broke the deck, allowing Markus to pull three cards.

The wheel of Fortune, reversed.

"You've been looking at life like it's two sides if the same coin and you just keep getting the wrong end. You focus on the bad that got you here and not the good."

The 4 of cups

"You're emotionally stuck but when the opportunity to change arises, you ignore it to stay in your safe space because you're afraid of upsetting the balance you've created for yourself."

The magician

"You have plenty of opportunity coming your way to find what you're looking for. You just need to let yourself be open minded about deviating from your current path."

"...Get out."


	3. Chapter 3

The boy's name was Asra and, by the gods, he was a persistent bastard. If he wasn't begging for work, he was buying things from him. Markus continued to deny him. The fact that this pest was there every day was making life a lot more difficult for him. Binding his chest first thing in the morning was a must now. He didn't want the boy to possibly get another look. Keeping himself covered despite the heat was another must. 

Living on edge like this was torturous. Two weeks of this and Markus caved. "If I let you set up a booth outside, will you leave me alone?"

"Not quite."

Markus could only groan in frustration.

"I'll give you my day's pay and work for only a meal and a bath. If you're still not happy, I'll leave for good."

Deal with him for a night and be rid of the theiving beggar for good? Or deal with his persistent harrasment for the rest of his days?...

It was a deal.

Not even an hour in and Markus was regretting his decision. Suddenly this kid was talking up his customers and getting them to buy his stuff like he owned the place. It was taking all of his willpower not to hit the kid and chase him out. 

On the plus side, Asra allowed him a little extra time to prepare fresh oils in the back room. He pushed the herbs into the distillery and prepared bottles and labels as he waited. 

"There's an easier way to do that, you know." Asra leaned in the doorway, just past the blue curtains.

"What now?"

"Can I show you?"

"Don't you have my customers to deal with?"

"Shops empty,"

"Whatever," he groaned. "I swear to the gods, if you say magic, I'm going to slap you."

"Maybe I should start running then," the boy joked, a sly smile curling his lips. It was expressions like that that Markus would eventually liken to a fox once he saw it up close.

"I've already tried it," he replied. "It just scorches the herbs and sours the oil."

"Wait! You know magic?!"

"A little. I was trained by an apothecary. What did you expect?"

"Maybe you weren't doing it right, then. You cant force it." Asra reached out for a bowl and some of the base oils and water. Putting them all into the bowl, he held it gently in both hands and breathed softly as the silver serpent slithered down his arms again.

Markus could feel a shift in the air as the only partially focused magic filled his hands. It felt almost like a cool summer rain.

Slowly, steam began to rise from the bowl and the room filled with the bitter sweet scent of the herbs.

"Not bad but your focus is shit," Markus said, folding his arms over his chest

"Excuse me?"

"You ever practiced with someone aside from a book?"

"Not really... My parents left before they taught me."

"Well right now, your like a water pump with a broken pipe. Some comes out but you're losing most of it."

That sly smile crossed the boys lips again. "Maybe you should show me." He reached out the bowl still in his hands.

Markus shot him a look that told him to watch his tone as he reached out to rest his wrapped hands over Asra's. Markus' hot energy flooded over Asra's like a wild fire, dragging the cooler magic into focus and causing the oil to simmer and pop.

To Asra, the conflicting magic felt like the sun of a summer day if it were directed through a magnifying glass. It felt like Sparks stinging his skin.

The oils were beginning to smell bitter and smoke, leaving Markus to only sigh and let go. "See? Scorched."

"You forced it. Too much, too fast."

"Too little, too slow. You'd have stood there an hour."

"still faster than that!" He said, pointing to the distillery.

"The way I work is fine as is. Fight with me AFTER you finish your own work."

"I'm just trying to help."

"Well, ya ain't helpful! Go sit back at the counter and wait."

Asra hesitated but did as he was told. 

Today was going to be hard indeed. Markus just wanted to go about his normal day but if he could get through this, he'd never have to see the brat again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asra gets a bath and Markus makes an ass of himself.

Markus had to admit, he was impressed. The pile of coins Asra set before him at the end of the day added quite a sum to his earnings. Tarot readings and charms apparently are more appealing than he'd thought.

As promised, he was going to give Asra a meal and a bath. It was almost over. 

He felt his way up the stairs to the apartment space above the shop, counting quietly to make sure he didn't miss one. 

"Seven, eight , nin-"

"You live up here?"

"Yeah, I do." Fuck he'd lost count, he was on seven, right? "Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleveaaaah!" No stair met his foot and he stumbled only to be caught by a hand on his arm from behind.

"You okay?" The boy asked when Markus steadied himself.

"Let go. I'm fine," he barked, pulling himself free.

"Didn't you see that? Or was I distracting you?" There was that coy tone in his voice again. 

Markus swung out with his stick, narrowly missing the side of the boy's head. "No, I couldn't, ya ass! Waddaya think I was counting for?!"

"You really can't see?"

"Ya think this stick's for show? I can't see shit past my arms length!" He replied, brandishing the stick at him again. "When you took my shit, you stole from a blind man! Ya happy with yourself, smart guy?" With an indignant huff, he turned and gently swung the stick around the tiny space till he hit the small washtub.

The apartment space was cramped with a bed in the middle, a small stove and cabinet against one wall and a tub in the corner. The tub was hardly knee height and was just barely large enough to sit in. It looked more like a barrel sawed short. The table was useless, piled high with mix matched dishes and books. The books were also piled against the wall near the door.

"Bath is there," he instructed. "If you want fresh water, I suggest you grab the pail and get it from the pump. It takes five trips to fill. I'll boil the first so you won't freeze." He grabbed a large soup pot from under the table and walked over to the stove. "Make it quick too, I want to make soup so I'll need that pot.

"Make your soup. I can warm the water myself," he replied, reaching for the pail by the tub. "I'll bring a sixth up for dinner."

Markus grumbled out a thank you as he opened the cabinet to dig out the quickly drying and spoiling vegetables. Might as well throw them into a pot together and call it soup.

He listened as Asra's footsteps disappeared down the stairs. Was he... Not wearing shoes? 

With every trip up, Asra had another question for him; "how come you live alone?" 'because I want to.' "If you know magic, why dont you practice it?" 'because I don't need it to get the job done.' "why herbology?" 'because I'm good at it.' "Do you like to read?" 'take a guess.' "why do you always cover yourself up?" 'because I don't want people to see me.' "why do you not want them to see you?" 'I dont like what I see and I don't want others to see it and judge me for it.' "Do you ever get lonely here by yourself?" 'do you ever stop asking questions?'

When it came to the last trip up, Markus made him fetch some rock salt and some herbs from the shop. He tried his best to focus on cooking while Asra began to peal his clothes off.

He stole a peak, not that he could see much. Even at that distance, he could tell this kid was even thinner than he imagined. 

Asra dipped his hand into the water and it slowly began to steam. The boy peaked back over his shoulder and smiled. "Like what you see?" 

Markus pinched the bridge of his nose. "There are so many things wrong with that question, I dont know where to begin."

"Then don't look."

"Like I can see you anyway," he scoffed, turning back to the pot on the stove. He began to break up the salt and crumble the herbs into the pot of diced vegetables.

He could hear Asra settle into the water with a sigh. Markus rolled his eyes when he overheard him talking to the snake, "You like that, huh? Been a while since we've had a warm bath."

"You gonna talk to that snake of yours all night or are you going to waste the hot water AS WELL as my time."

"Take it easy. She's cold blooded. She's been sleepy because it's been cold the past few nights."

"You act like she can hear you."

"She's my familiar, of course she can hear me. She answers too."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah...She thinks you're mean."

"Well, tell her to screw off. I ain't here to please a pet." Markus moved to sit on the bed with a groan. The bindings around his chest were really starting to hurt. He wished this kid would just leave so he could take off these suffocating clothes and bandages. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, just like his mentor had taught him.

"That smells really good," Asra commented, earning another mumbled thanks. There was a sound of water sloshing but Markus kept his eyes shut. "Is it ready?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Towels on the chair." He heard the sound of bare feet on the floor for several minutes but no sound of shuffling cloth. "Put your fucking clothes on, street rat. I don't need a kid running around my home naked."

"I thought you couldn't see."

"Yeah but my hearing is just fine. Put your clothes on so I don't have to look at you. We ain't exactly friends or family."

Finally, he heard the boy dressing and stood to gather up two bowls and a spoon. Admittedly, he filled Asra's bowl much more than his own. He held it out to the boy. "Eat up, kid."

He took the bowl and sat on the bed beside Markus. They both drank the soup from the bowls. Clearly manners weren't too big in this regard as he only had the one serving spoon. The rest of his spoons were down in the shop for mixing up medicines for people.

"You know, for someone my age, you call me 'kid' a lot. You sound like an old lady."

"I am a MAN, THREE YEARS your elder. Show some fucking respect."

"Wait, a man?"

Markus tensed and a deep seeded anger began to glitter in his deep brown eyes. "Yes. A man. You got a problem with that?"

"No, it's just... You don't look or really sound like a man so I assumed-"

"Out."

"What?"

"Out!"

"But I haven't finish-"

"OUT!" he yelled, grabbing Asra by his scarf and hauling him toward the stairs. He shooed him out without so much as taking the bowl back. "Get lost ya little vagabond! And don't show your face around my shop again."

"I don't understand! Why are yo-!"

The front door was slammed and locked before he even finished speaking. Markus didn't need to explain himself to a beggar


End file.
